A Phantom's Deal
by Phantopera
Summary: The First Daaé? How should one react to a phantom's deal? To accept leads to a whole new world of love and torment- so why did Miss Daaé accept?
1. Chapter 1

The whole of the Opera Populaire was lit up with blindingly warm lights contrasting the cool darkness of night. I could hear the orchestra as it faintly played in the background, telling people to head for their seats. I hoped I wasn't too late due to the long walk there.

It had taken a lot of money to buy a ticket to watch Hannibal; I was excited because of all the good things I had heard about Carlotta Giudicelli, so I couldn't wait to hear her sing. Like a beautiful songbird they said.

Nearly all my money was spent on the ticket and my dress, though the latter was still more of a working garb. I never had earnt much from being a maid and I wouldn't have been earning anymore from then on. I was fired; they were overstaffed.

I ran up the front stairs, holding up my simple grey dress. The doors were closed but I hoped that if I knocked then they would let me in. That was if they didn't have strict rules on late comers.

One last time, I checked that my hair was in place and covering the back of my neck. I had an awful accident at a very young age, just a babe, when a pan of boiling oil tipped on me and burnt all of my lower cheek and around the back of my neck. At the time it hurt, actually, it hurt a lot, but life went on and I learnt to save a little money each month for makeup to cover it. The rest of the scar I would cover with my shoulder length brown locks. Most of the time my hair stayed where it was, though it had a tendency to show a little redness due to the waves in it. Apart from that, my deception was perfect.

I banged on the front doors of the opera house, someone had to have heard, they could have been ignoring me though, either that or they were deaf. Although, I guess they never had to deal with tardiness very often as it was usually the snobby upper- class prompt type that went to the opera.

I was very careful not to bang my instrument case on the door, it had suffered many dents in its lifetime and did very well to stay in tune, but I didn't want to chance my luck. It went everywhere with me and held the little money I had left in it. It was all I had.

The door was prised open by a man in his middle ages and a curious frown set on his face. I stared him in the eyes, trying to give him my most innocent and sorry look that had saved me from many previous threats to doc pay. He merely rolled his eyes and pulled the door open wider for me to enter; he was not best pleased.

The opera house was warm and I drank in the heat as it was freezing out that night.

"In my day, if you were late you were turned away." He grumbled whilst he took my name and lead me to the audience seats.

I was going to thank him but he just turned around and walked off out the door we had come through. Frowning I carried on through the ornate doors to the seating area.

Thankfully, I was on the end of a row. This meant that I had plenty of leg room and was able to inwardly smirk at the people in the row who moaned about their aching legs. In a way, it was probably very childish of me, but I couldn't care less. I had learnt the hard way to accept whatever came one's way with a pinch of salt and so should they, no matter of their class.

The opera house was fantastic. It had the grandeur of a palace. Gold lined every balcony and box, the soft velvet material of each seat was a deep crimson. 'I could live here any day', was the only thought that passed through my head. Yawning, I sank into my chair and waited for the play to start.

People around me seemed disgusted at my slouching behaviour, 'what a terrible shame for them' I mocked in my head. I wasn't bought up in a fancy place with parents to tell me to sit up straight and the people on the row certainly weren't going to either. People like them didn't voice their opinion, they just think them. What's the point in that?

"What?" I said, looking down the row. Immediately, they all snapped their eyes forward.

The show was taking an inordinate amount of time to start. My eyelids were drooping and I was in the danger zone of falling asleep if I wasn't careful. Forcefully, I pinched my eyelids open to stay awake.

Suddenly, the orchestra stopped playing their simple melody and picked up a more substantial beat. The lights dimmed and the show began. The music was divine, I never usually got the chance to hear music unless it was me who played it and then I couldn't really listen to it because I concentrate too hard. Playing music is hard for me. I suppose I'm not a natural one for music.

I was anticipating Carlotta sweeping her way onto the stage with her powerful voice, or so I'd heard, when a smaller, frizzy brunette girl stepped on. It was Christine Daaé, I was sure. I had only had one small description of her and the girl fit perfectly, she had to be. A maid I knew described her to me as she had heard from the chef who had heard from the mistress that she was a good ballet dancer and so she took the time to find out her name. However, appearing as the main role was something I definitely did not expect to happen.

As she was about to sing, I sat up in my seat. I knew she worked in the opera house, but I didn't know that she was the Prima Donna, that was something else entirely.

Christine looked nervous and I couldn't blame her, I certainly couldn't do anything close to what she did. Her voice, on the other hand, was sweet and pure. I simply melted into each phrase of the song she sang. For a moment, for an achingly long moment, Christine made me forget that I was in a room, everything melted, merged and time froze. Her voice was intoxicating, in the best sense of the word.

Now, I knew that my sister was probably talented from even being able to snag a place performing on stage, yet nothing prepared me for a sister who was the main star of a show. I suddenly felt very small and all plans I had once had for an introduction swiftly diminished. I wasn't so sure, to be perfectly honest, I thought I would have been more of a burden to her than anything else.

Christine had the life of a star to deal with, not me. Unless, she wanted someone to be there for her, though she probably had many beautiful friends for that. A conversation was unlikely, at that time I could have just imagined how that would have gone, "Yes hello, it's me Clara Daaé, your sister who you probably don't remember because I was given up as a baby and you were a toddler. Well, enough about me, how's the life of a Prima Donna." I snorted at my thought and ignored the man next to me who looked at me, disgusted at the noise.

I would have been smacked up the back of the head and sent off with my tail between my legs. I thought I should probably try though, who knew, she might have believed my story that sounded like a lie.

Christine was on stage alone, she was wearing the most elegant white dress. My sister really was a sight to behold, unlike me. She began to sing a song about thinking of her. Once again, I was swept up in the musicality of it all.

At the end of her song I felt a tear drop on my lap, I quickly wiped it away. Crying was weakness on the streets, people exploited weakness. Granted I was not on the streets at that time but I didn't want to get into bad habits. Don't cry, do not cry, I kept repeating it to myself.

In my self- controlling mantra, I didn't realise that the lights had switched back on and people were trying to squeeze past my outstretched legs. Sheepishly, I stood up and allowed people to leave the row, avoiding their odd stares as they passed, but raising a challenging eyebrow at one particularly snobbish woman.

If I was lucky, I could wait until the room emptied and then ask one of the stagehands the way to Christine's room. Whether that was deemed creepy or not, I didn't care at all. People think what they want to think and I generally went along with it. If not then I had a pretty good kick in my right leg, although that may not have gone down well with the opera house.

I watched the last few stragglers mill around, some people talked amongst themselves. One man still sat in his chair asleep and a woman was trying to shake him awake but her efforts were futile, he was deep in snoozeville. I hand to cover my mouth to not snort out loud, it really was a funny scene to watch, trust me.

After half an hour, I decided it was time to ask. As I wandered up to the stage I had to dodge the brushes of the cleaners, I swear they were trying to trip me up. Brooms are lethal. If there was anything to teach someone something about an opera house it was that.

There was one plump man on the stage, he was folding up one of the backdrops to put it back in its position for another time. His clothes were ragged and dirty, he stank of alcohol. When he noticed my presence, he turned around to look at me.

The man had wispy brown hair, which looked as though it hadn't been washed it weeks and a beard hung limp from his face.

"What can I help you with Missy?" He raised his eyebrow at me. I didn't like the way he looked at me and I pulled a disgusted face without thinking.

"The directions to Christine Daaé's room s'il vous plaît." I asked as politely as I could muster with the man, he really looked unpleasant. Although, I had met worse.

Instead of speaking, the man pointed to the left wings and then bent his finger to the right. I understood what he was saying, down and right, but couldn't he have been more polite and said the directions.

I left him with his backdrop and made my way into the wings. It was actually easier than I had expected, I didn't think they would let anyone see Christine unless she knew them and that did not categorize me.

Behind the stage was dark and it smelt of old alcohol and sweat. In other words, there would never be a perfume called the Opera Populaire Backstage. No one paid attention to me as I slipped around, nearly tripping on some ropes that were left. Seriously, it was like the opera house tried to kill people by tripping them, first the brooms and then the ropes, probably the reason why they didn't mind showing the directions to the Prima Donna's room. They should have had a sign that said stragglers beware.

I did linger slightly as I made my way up to the corner, I wasn't so sure on my plan. There was a lot banking on Christine being someone who had a nature to comply to what people asked of her and for her to easily be swayed by heartfelt pleas. That was just about everything that I wasn't. Great. What could have gone wrong?

As I was approaching the corner, I heard many male voices. They were all shouting over one another to be heard and it was very annoying, but also very tempting to shout shut up at them.

Upon closer inspection, they were all holding some token of admiration, many held flowers though. Every now and then I heard one of them ask for Miss Daaé. I snorted, all those men were wanting my sister, wasn't she a lucky girl.

It was hard work to try and get to the door, all the men were pushing and shoving to get to the front and didn't care who they trampled in the process. At one point I will admit that I stomped on one's foot on purpose and pretended it was an accident, but no one needs to know that. He was the loudest of the lot and it made him quiet.

At the front of the group there was a stern ginger lady pushing the men back and telling them that 'Miss Daaé will see no one!' Some weak ones walked off sulking at this remark, whilst others kept on coming up with reasons as to why they needed to see her.

I stopped trying to shove my way through and just waited for the crowd to disperse instead. Only one man was left and the woman couldn't seem to rid herself of him. She called out for someone to come and drag him away, which they did because he still didn't leave of his own volition after seeing them walking towards him.

Leaning against the wall, I laughed at him being dragged down the corridor. When I turned around I was met with cold eyes. Oops. Inwardly, I berated myself for forgetting where I was.

I was determined to see Christine so I told boldly, "My circumstance is slightly different. I will congratulate her of course but I'm," I blew out a breath as I tried to find the words, "someone she hasn't met in a long time?"

The words sounded dodgy even to me and she looked even more dubious of my excuse. She crossed her arms over her chest as she thought of what to do with me.

"I will give you a chance, but if she turns you away then you go." The woman stood aside for me to try the door.

I knocked on it hard so she would hear and then I wouldn't have looked like an idiot.

A muffled shout came from within the room, "Who is it?"

What does one respond to that? Should it have been 'your sister' or 'a friend'. I had one shot or I was out.

Hesitantly I replied, "Clara?"


	2. Chapter 2

Maybe someone would have mentioned my name before, even in passing. The door opened slightly and Christine peeped around it before she opened it fully. She smiled at me but then frowned as if she didn't recognise me, which I did not expect her to after all.

"I'm sorry but you must have the wrong person, I do not know you." She just looked at me innocently with her big doe eyes. Something in my name must have clicked with her because she opened the door, she could have just called the answer if she didn't.

The woman behind me started to take my arm to drag me away like the previous man and judging by the look on her face, she was not best pleased.

I stared at Christine almost willing her to have pity on me, she wouldn't know me but maybe she would have taken sympathy with me.

I panicked, I have no job and although I have been on the streets before, I don't really want to go back.

"So where am I supposed to go? I don't have anywhere to sleep, perhaps Charlotte would share some of her blankets but the streets are too cold now for a few blankets." I was sure I had said the words in my head but from the way the woman stopped dragging me, I had said them out loud. I scrunched up my face, I hadn't wanted to let on my situation and so easily, what was wrong with my brain, it seemed to be in sleep mode, some sort of non- aware standby I hate you at the moment sleep mode.

Christine stepped out of her door and bore her eyes into me, I was getting the pity look. Of course she couldn't have done that earlier, could she.

"Mme Giry, we cannot let this young girl freeze on the streets of Paris, surely there must be a place for her to stay and jobs so she can earn her living here?" Christine pleaded with the woman, Mme Giry, to let me stay.

I was a little shocked when Mme Giry complied with Christine's begging for me to stay, it was a kindness I could never repay if they let me stay. I didn't like to be indebted to people, it wasn't in my nature.

The stern woman let go of my arm and beckoned me to follow her. I looked to Christine for reassurance and she smiled at me. What reassurance was that? It looked as though they were enticing me into hell.

I followed Mme Giry down the corridor, having to jog now and then because she was extremely fast for an older woman. A young man with the biggest flowers I had ever seen past us. His hair was long and blondy gingerishy in colour, not to my taste. He nodded his head to me as he past, he was headed for Christine's room.

I didn't get to see whether she let him in, though I doubted it after all the other men were turned away, he was no different to them despite the massive flowers he held.

Mme Giry walked around every corner possible, the opera house was enormous. We went up countless stairs only to go down others that snaked a different way. If they were putting me far away from the stage then I never have the chance to learn the way, I could imagine all the wrong turns I could take. Up one, down one, right then left and up and left and forward, it's turning into a song now.

The opera house really needed some more candles to light up the corridors, they were pitch black and woe betide my feet, there were ropes everywhere. It was an art to watch where one walked and avoid the loose ropes.

Mme Giry stopped abruptly, there was nearly a collision. The woman did not seem impressed with me so far. We had ended up at the end of a hallway, a wooden door stood ahead of me. I wondered where on earth she had placed me to sleep.

I walked forward to open the door, it had a terrible creak to it. No midnight sneaking then, I thought sarcastically. Footsteps sounded behind me and Mme Giry had gone.

The room was small. That was the first thought that popped into my head. However, if I was the only person sleeping in there, which I assumed I was, then there was plenty of room.

A large stain glass window sat in one of the walls with a step that lead up to it, the room was obviously a chapel of sorts. A holder for candles stood at the head of the room, some looked almost completely burnt up. Apart from that, the room was desolate. Just how I liked it.

I placed my instrument case down on the step and sat beside it. In honesty, I had hidden it from peoples' sight because I didn't want to play in their orchestra, no way.

The window cast many beautiful colours on the room, I considered it my favourite room. Although, I was biased since I had only seen that room, yet what could top a chapel? I had lived on the streets, the room was heaven in comparison.

"I have bought you some blankets and a pillow." Mme Giry handed the thick blankets to me and a limp pillow, "I'm sorry but there was no other room available, they are all used up for other workers or cast members."

I bit my lip, the mention of work reminded me that I needed to earn my keep. "What jobs shall I do?" I asked her timidly because frankly the woman terrified me.

She looked at me as if it was a stupid question to ask, "Clean the practice rooms, they have numbers on the door. They are all over the opera house and go up to ten." She said her piece and left the room. Mme Giry definitely left an impression on any room she entered.

I took my blankets and laid them out on the floor with my pillow at the top. The blankets were so thick that there was no chance that I was going to be cold in the night. I had no clothes to change into, but I was used to wearing out my clothes until they were thin or holey.

I settled down in my makeshift bed and relaxed, for once I didn't have to worry about getting fired, especially if I told Christine who I was and she believed me. "Clear as mud." I murmured to myself.

My instrument case lay beside me, it was like a teddy bear to me. I didn't cuddle it but it gave me the comfort that someone would find from one. Gently, I opened the case to assure myself that it was safe and sound. My flute glinted back at me from the moonlight that shone through the stain glass window.

It had taken a lot of work and saving to buy the flute, yet when I asked my employers if I could buy it off them, they gave me a reduced price for being a loyal maid. I smiled as I thought of the memory, that family was kind to me.

The problem had risen when the father of the household died and they could no longer afford to keep all their servants and I was one of the ones to go. From then on, I was tossed between many families and served many, loyalty was no longer an option.

In every home I served in I kept my flute safely locked in a cupboard or storage room that was never used so no one would steal it.

I closed the lid of my flute case and locked it, the locks were fiddly to someone who didn't know how they worked and sometimes that had saved it from thieves because it was then useless to them, just a heavy box.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, I didn't know when I was going to fit in time to talk to Christine if I had ten rooms to clean. I imagined her sitting at her table brushing her hair and humming lovely melodies to herself.

Quietly, I started to hum the melodies to myself. I wasn't terrible at singing but I had no extreme talent like my sister, you know, mediocre. I wondered how she came to be so talented, I was told by the original family that bought me up that that was the reason Gustave didn't keep me. Christine had a beautiful voice, he could work with that, I wasn't supposed to be born and couldn't make easy money for a living, for once I was too expensive to keep.

It had never bothered me before when one of the families I lived with and served told me that I wasn't loved because I didn't remember Gustave Daaé, so I didn't really feel any resentment towards him. In fact, I understood where he was coming from and just lived on.

"How very noble of you Clara." I said to myself in a mocking tone. I didn't like self- righteous people so whenever I was on the verge of saying something like it I would stop myself.

I faintly began to hear something resounding in the room. It sounded akin to that of a piano, but it was too echo-ey to be. "Someone must be practising, odd time of night though. Suppose it's a quiet time to practise if you want peace."

I swayed to the rhythm of the music that was playing. At some points it was too quiet and I couldn't make it out and then it would pick up again. I had never heard the piece before. I lulled me into a sleepy state. I began to close my eyes, they were getting heavier.

I fell asleep with the sound of the instrument playing the most beautiful melody, it was as though the opera house had come alive again to do a private piece for me. I slept that night with a warm smile on my face.

X X X X

The morning light invaded my eyelids. The window amplified the morning light to an unnatural level. I clamped my hands over my eyes and moaned 'mornin Clara' to myself.

It took a while for me to fully wake up from my deep sleep. Judging from the fact that I hadn't woken up from my internal clock I guessed that the time was before six thirty. That was the timing I had to get up for my last job.

I kicked back the blankets and stood up. When I stretched there were several cracks that were clearly heard. My body wanted to slump and go back to sleep, but I knew if I did then who knows what time I would have woken up at.

"I need food before work, yes, food is a good idea. They do something here for the workers, right?" I asked myself and tried to map out the opera house in my head. It was typical me to talk to myself, I was the only person I could trust and, well, life is too quiet if I don't.

The door to the chapel creaked again as I opened it, causing me to wince at the noise. It was too early for high pitched noises.

As I guessed, I got hopelessly lost in the maze which was the opera house. I had taken a right, followed by three lefts and many a staircase. By the time I considered myself lost, I wanted to bang my head on the wall in frustration. Little by little I started to panic as I ended up at another dead end. Fortunately, I had passed many rooms which had numbers on them and made a note of where they were, the closest was number five and it was just down from the chapel, I'd leave it until last.

I tiptoed down a corridor that had branched off a fork in my path and bumped head first into someone's chest. The force at which I hit them made my nose bend and when I jumped back it throbbed painfully. My hand flew up to rub away the pain from my nose, covering half my face.

I felt the person I had run into brush past me to walk off. It was a man, dressed all in black but I only saw the back of him. I could tell he was strong though, he didn't flinch one bit when I bashed into him and I wasn't the daintiest of women. He was tall and his dark clothing gave him a sinister look. A huge cape billowed behind him as he stalked off down the passage. To complete the deathly ensemble, he had black hair which was slicked back on his head.

In a rage, I stared at his back, hoping to burn a hole through him. No such luck. Then I wondered if he could help me and slightly softened my voice without much success for I still shouted, "Sir, do you know the way to the main stage?"

The black shadow of a man hesitated in his step, his form went a little rigid. The man obviously wasn't used to being spoken to in such a way. However, he just pointed his right hand down a passage a little further down the corridor. He didn't turn to me, he merely pointed me in the direction as he walked past it. "What is it with people and just pointing directions, have they ever heard of manners or is the opera house averse to radical ideas like that?" I fumed my anger at thin air because the man had turned a corner.

If I hadn't bumped into him, I don't think I would have seen him. He was very quiet with his steps and never said anything. I decided to just excused his attitude and put it down to something like method acting or plain weirdness on his part.

Anyhow, I set off down the passage he had pointed and came to a corridor I recognized as Christine's corridor. That's what I labelled it anyhow. Silently, I thanked the strange man for his directions, however rude they were.


	3. Chapter 3

**Phantom's P.O.V**

The little wretch had ripped my mask right off! Could she not see that it was my most prized possession for a reason? I do not just wear it for amusement. I was fuming with anger and needed a way to vent it. An unfortunate wall took the brunt of my rage but my knuckles burnt with pain.

I took the pain as a punishment for going too far with Christine. I had basically hypnotised her to going with me and I knew it wasn't right, though I shouldn't have cared for what was right. The innocent girl just inspired so much guilt in my soul and I hated it.

A small part of me wanted to tell Christine to buck up a little and stop being so pathetic, but it was so small I easily crushed it with great force. She may have been surprised when I showed her the dress, but that doesn't lead to fainting, it was a little over the necessary reactions boundary.

Those thoughts were majorly overridden by my undying admiration for her and I believed I loved her. Christine had the voice of an angel and that meant that she had to an angel, no other being could possess such purity without them being pure.

I couldn't stay angry at Christine for long, but the thought that she had shied away from my deformity stung and inspired fresh pains in me.

It wasn't healthy to be angry all the time, yet everything that revolved around the woman seemed to end in her being scared and me being angry. My strides were probably heavier than they should have been for slipping around without being seen and my thoughts should have been clear, not clouded.

I needed to deliver my letters to the foolish managers. They really didn't know talent when it was right under their noses. Firmin could shout 'stupenda!' all he wanted, but if he didn't appreciate Christine then it was all in vain. The managers saw money, not a young individual who needed nurturing. Christine only had me, I understood her. She didn't have family and I intended to act as that family and more.

It had always niggled my brain as to why Gustave Daaé didn't have any other children to keep Christine company, it would have done her very well. A brother or sister would be as good as Christine and maybe a little more spirited to keep her away from the Vicomte.

I had trained Christine all her life and taken care of her. This Vicomte struts in like a proud peacock and expects her to swoon over him, Christine doesn't want him much less need him. He had no talent to behold anywhere close to mine. The boy can sword fight, well so could I and more. What did she see in him?

I strode up the corridor in the direction of André and Firmin's office, if I didn't deliver my notes soon then they would arrive. The managers always arrived later the day after a performance, almost like a reward. They did nothing it was all me and the performers and they hardly got any reward.

Trying to clear my mind, I wiped my face of all emotion except my tense jaw. I allowed myself to grit my teeth in case the rage led to another battered wall and then someone may have heard me.

My thoughts drifted to the letters I had already presented to the Vicomte and Carlotta. I smiled cruelly, if they didn't take my advice then many devastating events would occur and I would see to it that they had the appropriate effect.

I turned the last corner to the manager's vent. Carefully, I removed the grating from the other side of the wall and placed it to one side. They hadn't arrived yet, although I doubted they would have seen me if they did look with all the alcohol they had consumed the night before.

I glanced at my ominous notes one last time, the red wax skull adorned the opening as my signature. I was proud of my deception, there weren't many people who could pull off what I did. There was a hint of sadness to my thoughts but I cast them aside.

I picked up my pulley from next to me. It was like a fishing rod only finer and quieter so I could not be heard. The cord was so thin that a person could only see it if the sun directly hit it so the cord gleamed. I had the advantage, if I was caught then the person would only assume that the letter was floating and it would only add to the effect. A win- win for me.

The letter landed on the table with a little pat and I retracted my rod. Then, I replaced the grating like I'd never been there. Only Mme. Giry new the truth and I knew she wouldn't tell on me without good reason and I trusted her judgement.

I waited a while before the door opened for my first victim. André sat at the desk and produced some papers, at least he was trying to get some work done. Out of the two idiots, I preferred André more as he usually had sense and tried to work the opera house. Firmin only enjoyed the fun he could get.

My breath hitched as I waited for him to discover my note. My eyes glinted in anticipation, yet I kept my hands at my sides.

The man noticed the letter with a gasp, causing me to inwardly chuckle. It was obvious that he was scared, I could practically smell it radiating off him. André opened it and read. I couldn't see his face because the back of his head was facing me.

I expected him to burst with anger and blurt something about impudence but he just sighed and cradled his head. I frowned, he wasn't supposed to react like that and I wanted to go and shake some fear into him, he should fear The Phantom of the Opera.

I heard the man mutter to himself, "This must be a joke for more money by one of the stagehands, though I will keep as much as I can to one side without Firmin knowing. If he ever found out that I did, he'll wring my neck." He tipped his finger with each word as though he was instructing himself in the best cause of action.

I clenched my fists, it wasn't enough for him that I deliver notes, but I should produce hard evidence for him. I was furious at him, he had no right to not believe in me. I would not have the managers ignore my existence.

The ignorant man stuffed the note in his pocket and left the room.

I didn't feel like waiting for Firmin's entry because I knew he would just be angry and when he was angry there was no amusement in it.

I pushed off the wall in frustration, it would take a while to break in the new managers. Lefevre was easier because he was naturally superstitious and obeyed my every whim, no questions asked. Why couldn't the new mangers be like him? Times were changing and I didn't like it.

The passages were dark when I turned away from the light of the office, but my eyes soon adjusted. I wanted to get back to my lair to compose more of Don Juan Triumphant, my masterpiece was taking shape. I knew I would finish it this year after nineteen years work it was worth it, my vaulting ambition made me continue with it.

The passage opened onto a wider corridor which was just as dark. I went down it, still angry at everything that had happened, yet I had a new feeling of determination to make things happen how they should, my way.

As I made my way through the darkness I hugged the wall on the left. I stalked off quickly, not thinking about the passage that branched off from the one I was on.

It was too late, someone had banged into my chest. I guessed it was a woman from the height and size of them. They bashed into me with quite some force, but I was strong and kept my stance.

I noticed that the figure was holding their nose with their hands in pain. I couldn't have cared less, yet I didn't recognise the figure before me. Most of her face was covered with her hands so I didn't have a chance at seeing much of her anyhow.

Whilst the woman was distracted with her nose, I decided to push past and carry on my journey without any more interruption or cause a scene.

I walked on for quite a distance before I heard her voice asking me the directions to the main stage area. She was obviously new then. Her voice was angry and frustrated, she had been walking around for a while and it was slightly amusing that she was so close to the stage and yet she wanted to give up.

However, it wasn't her demand that made me go rigid, it was the voice. I felt as though I remembered it. The voice felt like a distant memory that I couldn't recall and yet it was there, mocking me in my forgetfulness.

I couldn't know her, she was new to the opera house and I would have known if the managers hired a new performer so she was only a stage hand or cleaner. That left a very slim line for me to know her.

The options were, either she reminded me of someone or I knew her before the opera house. The latter seemed impossible so she must have sounded like somebody I knew.

I didn't want to turn around, then she'd have known my face. The woman might not have known who the opera ghost was yet, but when she did a problem would occur for me.

Instead, I continued walking and when I went past the other corridor that branched off the main dark one I pointed down it.

In the distance, I heard the girl muttering about pointing and manners in an opera house. I had to stifle a laugh, it was the most truthfully humorous thing I had heard all day and it wasn't often that someone made me laugh.

I was curious as to the new girl, she had something in her that no other in the opera house had. It would be quite interesting to get to know what she was like.


	4. Chapter 4

**Clara's P.O.V**

From Christine's corridor, I followed my trusty nose to lead me to the delectable smells of warm bread and bacon. I came to a room which had its door wide open for people to wander in and out. Many people stood around but most sat at lined tables with something to eat in front of them. There didn't seem to be any order to the situation which was perfectly fine with me.

I walked across the room to a basket where the bread rolls were stacked high. The basket that stood next to it was nearly empty and the ones at the bottom looked cold and undercooked, so I went with one from the fresh batch.

Popping the roll in my pocket, I chose a seat in the corner of the room, alone. I didn't want to interrupt anyone's conversations because they looked engrossed in them and happy, I would just have been some awkward third party.

My stomach groaned with pleasure when I swallowed the first bite of my warm bread roll, it was delicious. If the opera house wanted to make more money all they had to do was open a little café et voila! Money!

I looked up from my roll when a small thud came from the bench opposite. The girl was wearing a dainty ballet costume and had silky long blonde hair. Anyone who cared about their looks would have called her the spitting image of an angel.

"Hello, you're new aren't you." The girl said in a smooth voice. Her eyes stared at me, though they were soft and I relaxed instantly. I didn't think she was going to try and annoy me, she was just being friendly.

I snorted at her statement, "Either that or I'm excellent at hiding." I smirked at her and she laughed at me. Her laugh was tinkley and light. "You're a funny one. I'm Meg Giry." She held out her hand.

I nearly spat all my food in her face. She was the daughter of that ginger woman that showed me to my room with the coldest of stares… but her daughter is so nice. It was like a lion had given birth to the fluffiest kitten alive, it was weird.

Without hesitation I took up her hand, "Clara." She cocked her head in confusion and frowned a little, "Clara what?" She asked.

"Clara nothing, just Clara." She pulled an odd expression at me and opened her mouth only to shut it again, rather like a fish would.

"Alright Clara, what brings you to the opera house?"

I didn't want to give too much away so I answered her as simply as I could, "Work." I said it nonchalantly and she smiled at me. "Woman of few words are we?" She grinned at me.

"Woman of many questions are we?" I quipped back at her.

Meg gave me surprised look, "Touché Clara. Another question for you, what job did they assign you here then?" She leaned forward on her elbows. Her eyebrow quirked upwards and a small smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.

I couldn't help but fall in love with Meg's personality, she was so ready to have fun and there didn't appear to be a mean bone in her body. "I'm to clean all the practice rooms. One to ten, all of them until they sparkle like Carlotta's ego." Meg snorted at me.

"If you dare to clean five the opera ghost will find you and get you. He'll sneak you away and kill you in his dirty lair, well, that's what Buquet says. The Opera Ghost doesn't demand it like Box five, but people are still very wary of anything with a five on it now, very bad luck."

She waved her hands in my face to imitate some crazed sort of ghost, but it just looked like she was attacking me. I turned my face away from her wafting hands, she wavered her voice like a ghost too.

When she stopped I gave her a dubious look, "Meg, what are you on about? Don't tell me the actors are superstitious, I thought all that stuff of actors never saying Macbeth was just a myth. Are you actually telling me they believe that?"

It was unbelievable that the opera house actors actually thought the place was haunted; probably a ruse for attention.

Meg made a shushing noise and looked as though I had slapped her when she started to look around the room. "He sees all, watch what you do or say. The Phantom of the Opera is basically your employer now, he could get you fired or…" She trailed of as if she rethought what she was going to say.

It was great, really great. The first person I really met was insane, believing in ghosts is for when you wanted to scare little kids. We even had a ghost that came to collect children in the night from the streets, but nobody actually believed it, only the kids.

I finished off the last of my roll started to get up from the table to leave. "Excuse me Meg, but do you know where the mop and broom are?" She looked up at me, "First door on your right when you leave."

At last I'd been given straight forward instructions to follow and I found the small room with ease. Although, I did have to lug the equipment up many stairs and ended up dropping them so many times. The reason was mostly due to the ropes that were scattered everywhere; they tugged the handles from my grip.

The first room I came across was the mildly dusty number three. I got to work immediately, scrubbing, polishing and sweeping the vast flooring. The wall had a few floor length mirrors on it and I cleaned them until they practically sparkled. I intended to make a good impression on my first day. It had taken close to an hour and the room had looked fairly clean when I had entered so I didn't have high hopes for the day.

If I constantly cleaned the rooms then they couldn't have much dirt each day and the job would be quicker the next day.

I was very wrong, the floors seemed to cake in more grime every day. I didn't even realise how much they used the practice rooms. No one was ever in the rooms when I went in to clean them, but the next day they were dirtier than before, it was quite frustrating.

I still hadn't got around to cleaning room five after the first whole week. My full intention was to start it on a day when there were no rehearsals and that would be the next day to give the performers a well-earned rest. When I say well-earned, what I really mean is everyone except Carlotta.

Meg carried on warning me about the infamous Phantom and each story got wilder and wilder up until the point where the acts he apparently committed were not even humanely possible. She tried to convince me that it was because he wasn't human, but I remained unconvinced.

I knew her stories were getting to me though because in some practice rooms I felt as though eyes were watching me. I knew that it was a stupid idea and I ignored my shivers and constantly blamed Meg. If she knew of all the blame I pegged on her in that first week, she would have been quite offended.

Another annoying fact was that I hadn't had a chance to have a private conversation with Christine yet. According to Meg, she did go into the dining room, but I had always left by that time. It was like there was a force repelling us from one another, like the two same poles on two separate magnets.

I hadn't seen that black cloaked figure either and it was curious because he wasn't one of the performers, I had met all of them and not all of them I wished to meet again. Carlotta was the biggest diva since the word was created, she was the definition of the word and she had an obsession with toads. Everyone was a toad to Carlotta, she just hadn't had the chance to call Christine one yet, that I knew of.

I was a toad the day after I started according to Carlotta as I apparently hit her with a broom, what I would've given to have actually hit her with it.

X X X X

I woke up the next day with a smile on my face. Someone had been playing some different tunes on the organ, I had settled upon that as the instrument. Some melodies were more powerful than others and one in particular I ended up humming as I went along to the dining room.

"You're in high spirits." Said Meg with little interest. She continued to read the book she had on the table. It was her day off and it didn't look as though she had any plans.

I flopped down on the bench, "Well I'm planning on cleaning that room five today, it's been bothering me since I started here." I produced my bread roll and tucked in.

"You say it like you've worked here for years." Meg still didn't look up from her book.

I hummed in admission and sat in silence across from her, she obviously wasn't listening to everything I was saying or she would have said something about room five.

Suddenly, Meg jumped up from her book and pointed her finger at me. Her reaction should have made me jump, but I was used to her antics by then.

"You've wanted to see Christine for ages, well she's coming down to breakfast earlier today because she's going out for some reason." I perked up at her words.

That was the best news I'd had all day, even if I had only been up for a couple of hours. It would be my chance to ask her for a private discussion. "When is she coming?"

"When is who coming?" A small brunette girl sat next to Meg. Christine was sat opposite me; the opportunity was practically screaming at me. Christine looked with her massive dark brown eyes.

"No one." I pretended like I didn't really know what she was asking. She shrugged.

Christine turned to Meg, "What are you doing today?" Meg raised her book and smiled at Christine. She nodded in understanding.

"And you're Clara, I'm right in saying that am I not?" I nodded at her before replying weakly,

"Thank you for convincing Mme Giry to let me stay and work here." Here I have to give credit to Christine because she just smiled and shrugged off the thank you like it was nothing.

Christine seemed to go off into a world of her own as she said, "I used to have an imaginary friend called Clara you know."

I bit my lip, I was surprised she had some sort of recognition of my name and had held onto it in some way. More of me was surprised that Gustave had let her say my name.

I studied her features, she was a lot daintier than Meg and looked as though someone would snap her in half if they touched her. "Christine? Could I have a private discussion with you at some point, whenever you're free if that's ok."

Direct was the way to go I'd decided. Straight to the point.

Christine glanced at me with worry before she nodded in agreement and I smiled at her, my appointment was set. Christine would have a sister soon, well a sister that she knew of soon, maybe, well, if I perked up a bit that is. Rambling.

"Would the day after next suit you?" She asked.

"Perfect." I answered and excused myself from the table.

That day was turning out to be a great day, I just needed to tackle room five and then I could play my flute a little. Since I'd arrived my flute had sat in its case, untouched. I hadn't had a chance to pick it up and I was itching to do so..


	5. Chapter 5

**3** **rd** **Person POV**

It was official; practice room five was the dirtiest room of them all. Cobwebs hung in every corner, which only added decoration to the dust that caked the mirrors. The floor needed a jolly good sweep to even make out its original colour.

The room was different from the others, every wall was covered in floor length mirrors. Clara found herself jumping every few minutes from a small flinch she had seen reflected in one of the other mirrors, only to realise it was her own reflection, her own stupid reflection.

The cleaning took five hours and Clara acknowledged the achievement by throwing her head back and rubbing her eyes. At least it wouldn't take long to clean after that day, a quick dust and polish.

A small smile crept onto her face as a thought occurred. She dashed out of the room to grab her instrument case.

She had acquired an old music stand from one of the storage rooms and placed it in the centre of the room. The body of the stand bent at an odd angle and refused to increase the height. No wonder it had been stuffed in a storage room.

The clasps on the case clicked open to reveal her shiny flute glinting back at her.

She grasped the objects, piecing the three parts together and opened the music score to a Mozart piece. The brunette knew it by heart, but still needed the music to guide her fingers to the right notes.

She'd had brief lessons from a fellow maid in one of her jobs and had become fast friends with her, that was until she had to leave. Her main problem was her fingers moving before her slow brain comprehended what had happened.

Immediately, Clara was lost in the music as it soared through her and through the flute. Each note was hit with perfection and she closed her eyes to feel the music ripple throughout her body. The low, deep notes were pure and soothing compared to the staccato high notes swooping down to the middle of the stave where those notes would slur into one beautiful melody.

It was too soon before she had to stop because there were no more notes.

She lowered her flute from her lips with a sigh.

Bang.

A loud crash on the door made Clara jump with fright. 'Blinkin Nora' she gasped. Quickly, she whipped her hands around to defend herself from any attack that could come. No one, there was no one there.

Cautiously, she walked over to the door to check the passageways for a prankster. Both ways were clear of any human soul.

"If this is a trick, it's not funny. You frit me half to death, have you never heard of privacy you snivelling toad?" She shouted down the corridor in case there was anyone there and then proceeded to slam the door shut behind her. She had taken a leaf out of Carlotta's insult book.

Clara stormed over to her music stand with the hopes of playing herself calm once more. She halted at the shreds of paper, her music was in pieces, someone had been in and ripped up Mozart and replaced it with one of her own compositions. Clara was seething at the audacity of someone to touch her belongings.

"Whoever did this had better show themselves for the coward they are." She spat out her words whilst pointing her finger around the room.

"My my, a snivelling toad and a coward, I wouldn't want to get on your really bad side." An amusedly haunting voice mocked from all around the room.

Clara froze, there was no one she could see in the room and the voice had a hint of familiarity to it mixed with the creepy tone. "What do you want?"

"I merely came to say how well you played just now." A faint clapping echoed around the room and Clara narrowed her eyes. "You play just as well as anyone in the orchestra pit, if not… better." Clara mock curtsied in response, the voice was interrupting her playing and it was annoying her.

"What is your name?" he asked. Clara huffed, the man obviously wasn't going to go away any time soon. "Clara." The phantom frowned, he'd vaguely recognised that name from somewhere, it rang in the back of his mind but he shook it away.

He had to know why this girl resembled that of Christine with her big brown eyes and her hair was the same colour, their builds were the same too. It had been nagging him since he had seen her through one of the passages. He was very probably the only person who had noticed because he spent much of his time with Christine.

"And yours would be?" Clara asked pointedly sticking her chin in the air.

A sinister chuckle resounded around the room, "Do you not know who I am? I am the whisper on every lip, the shadow on every wall and the nightmare to every dream. My presence leaves a sickening reminder to everyone who experiences it. My power exceeds any other and can presents devastating effects, now you understand who I am." The voice was silky smooth with deep undertones of a bellowing threat.

Clara smiled to herself, "I understand a phantom, yet I hear a man. A man can leave a whisper on peoples' lips, cast shadows on walls and from what I've heard, drop heavy equipment from their place, not a phantom. A phantom is ever present and I have not had the pleasure before now."

The man bristled upon the woman's impertinence to his entry, another non- superstitious person to deal with. He would have to try more… personal means.

He moved so he stood directly behind one of the mirror panels and pressed a lever to make it transparent. "Not scared she believes. Poor, weak woman defenceless to any danger." He guided his voice around her until she glanced at him through the mirror. He pushed the lever to make the mirror opaque once again.

In each mirror only an outline of a caped figure was present and the white mask starkly contrasted with an eerie glow.

The phantom continued to do this with several of the mirrors until he had Clara backed up against one of the panels. She was terrified, he was everywhere all at once, a glance and he was gone. The continued taunts added further doubt to her conflict.

Silently, the man opened up the sliding mirror door without Clara realising. He gently blew a torrent of air past her neck and by her ear to produce a soft whistle sound. By the time she had whirled around, he had once more shut the mirror door, appearing like a ghost had come and gone.

He stood behind his mirror with a smug smile gracing his lips.

As she stood petrified in front of the one way mirror, he could really take in her appearance. He knew that face, he knew he knew it, he was sure he knew he knew he knew it. He frowned in thought for a moment, tracing back his memories.

A light bulb flashed in his brain. The maid, she was the 'blummin' maid.

In spite of his revelation he had to be sure, "Who are you really?" he asked slowly and carefully.

Clara responded with tremoring lips, "Clara, sir"

"Yes, but Clara who?" He was becoming frustrated with the lack of confirmation.

"Clara D- Destler?" She assumed it was safe to go with her emergency surname, acquired at a young age from a young boy.

Full laughter exploded from behind the mirror wall, it was amused laughter with no hint of anyone wanting to jump out and kill her, at least she hoped it wasn't like she had pictured when her life was flashing before her eyes.

Before her, the mirror slid open by some contraption she had never seen before to reveal a man leaning against a tunnel wall smiling down at her. "My my Clara, how you have grown from the little sprout you were, a fully grown maid now. The First Daaé you used to say if I remember rightly, although I still don't know of any others, such a common name."

Clara's terrified look melted into surprise and then a grin, "Master Erik Destler, if my eyes do not deceive me, I guess the name I used gave it away." She rubbed her neck sheepishly.

She lofted her head accusingly, "What was with the whole show there, scaring me, why?"

Erik pursed his lips in a guilty fashion, "I have to keep up the appearance of a phantom here, the phantom everyone knows of. I thought you might tell others about your 'experience'."

"It's your face isn't it?" She sighed, "Society never seems to get better as time goes on."

Erik distracted himself from feeling sad and looked straight ahead. He smirked before he stepped down off his ledge and walked over to the music stand. "So you play the flute now I understand."

"I try to if that's what you mean." Clara took in Erik's appearance, he didn't look much different except that he now wore a mask to cover the deformity on his face instead of a hessian bag. He looked very proper in his suit, dressed to the nines.

Then it dawned on her, "Hey, you were the one that I bumped into down that passageway. I proper hurt my nose I did and then what was with all the 'I will point down the corridor like I own the place'?" She stuck her hands on her hips and deepened her voice in jest.

Erik laughed at her impression of his deep voice, "I don't try and associate with the workers and if you haven't noticed, I do own the place, I have everyone in the palm of my hand." Clara grimaced at his words, he had changed a lot from the frail Erik she knew.

"What brings my childhood friend and mother's maid to the wonderfully haunted Opera Populaire?" He grandly gestured around the room with his hands as he spoke.

"Mostly because I saved up for a ticket to see Hannibal with Carlotta in it," Erik visibly tensed at her name, "but was surprised to find Christine in her place, oh, Erik I finally decided to meet with my sister. You always tried to convince me to see if I could find family and now I'm taking that advice."

Erik froze at her words, she couldn't have been talking about Christine Daaé being her sister, there were so many Daaés in France, the possibility was inconceivable.

Meeting Christine was a huge stroke of luck, but Christine having a sister and having previously met her and having them both in the same building… So many thoughts went through Erik's brain, tracking around and around, whirring like clockwork, calculating about how all round talented Clara could be and whether she could sing.

Instead, he lowered his head and said calmly, "You're Christine's sister?" His voice was wary and a hint of disbelief sounded through.

"Well, she doesn't know yet, we have a meeting arranged for the day after tomorrow and I hope to tell her then, but for now, yes." Clara realised she was rambling a little for no reason and stuck her fiddling hands behind her back to give an attitude of indifference.

Erik started to pace around the room with his hands tucked behind his back. He knew the piece of information he had acquired could be quite valuable to him, useful even. An inside voice to make Christine wary of that Raoul fop. Maybe even useful to keep the man away himself. Christine didn't need that fop and he was just hindering her time with him in order to teach her.

He paused his pacing and turned to Clara, who had been watching him with an amused eyebrow raise, "Tell you what, if you help me rid Christine of an annoying fop, I'll help you get into the orchestra pit. That sounds a fair deal." He folded his arms.

Clara frowned then paced forward until she was right in front of him and staring him in the eyes. "I need more detail than that Destler." She poked him with each word she said.

Rolling his eyes, Erik picked up her pointy little finger and flicked him away from him like a speck of dust on his coat, "Well Daaé, around this opera house is a fop named Raoul, all he does since he came is hinder Christine from the singing lessons I give her. Frequently now she cannot attend, even today they went to some place or other when I wanted to teach her a new piece. Insolent boy." He muttered the last comment to himself but Clara heard.

The brunette smirked at him, "Do I detect a hint of jealousy?" She pouted her bottom lip like a child. She found it thrilling that they could act the way they used to when they were children. It was as though no time had passed by.

Erik steeled himself, "Is that a yes to my deal, I could even try and give you voice lessons, if you have the talent of course."

"Of course," she mocked, "but who says I actually want to be in the orchestra pit?"

He squinted his eyes, "Everyone does, it would merely be a perk of me asking a friend a favour, after all I could go very menacing and phantom of the opera on you."

Clara put her hand on her chest in mock shock and offence, "You mean you are not offering me something from the goodness of your heart?" She laughed, "Erik, for you I'll see what I can do to get you more time with your precious Christine and her singing lessons.

He stiffened up again, "Thank you… First Daaé."


	6. Chapter 6

**Clara P.O.V**

The day before my meeting with Christine went by quicker than I would have liked, mainly because my head was filled with memories of Erik. Many were sad ones from when I had to comfort him after his mother had a rage, but some were more gentle and calming or exciting and wild.

We used to sneak into the butcher's shop and hide a chicken in the old store cupboard once a day. The butcher couldn't understand the gradual decrease in number of his chickens, I swear at one point he believed he had sentient chickens that had some sort of revolt going on against him.

After we had collected a fair few chickens, Erik spread chicken feed throughout the shop towards the door and I let loose the chickens, causing a chicken tornado to rage through the shop.

We kept the chickens in good health, Erik swore to make sure they were pampered. That was also the time when I found out that Erik knew all the secret passages underneath the town, the stinky underground ones.

Yes, we had a good five or so years together. The amount of trouble we made without anyone knowing was frankly… surprising.

So absorbed in my thoughts, I bumped into just about every wall going and tripped Carlotta up with a broom, of course unintentionally. I'm still happy about it though, way happier than I should be.

The next day, I found myself pacing outside Christine's room with my palm to my forehead. I was pretty sure I looked like an indecisive fool, in fact, I know I did because one of the stagehands called to me saying, 'things will be better tomorrow lass'.

That was the moment I realised that perhaps I should have already gone in.

"Knock knock." I said as I knocked the door, frowning to myself 'such a child'.

A small giggle on the other side of the door snapped me out of my reverie. The door opened so I could see Christine in all her glory.

She had adorned a beautiful pastel pink gown with frills and lace sewn on every possible space. Her hair was slightly pulled back whilst the rest of her chocolatey hair tumbled around her shoulders. She was a vision to behold and part of me wondered who she was dressing up for. The Fop? Or Erik?

"Hello Clara, do come in." I stepped into the room only to be intoxicated by thousands of flowers. Flowers, flowers and guess what, more flowers. I thought my smelling ability had disintegrated and I have yet to fully regain it.

A large mirror stood in the room, looming over the whole of it. I assumed that if Erik was up to his old tricks again he would be standing behind it, watching the scene before him. Just in case he was I smirked and did a small salute towards it with my fingers.

Christine sat in a chair that was in front of some sort of beauty table space and I stood behind it. She started twiddling with her hair in the small vanity mirror thing, I'm really not experienced in the beauty terms.

"What can I do for you?" She smiled at my reflection.

I looked in the mirror on her table and saw my own reflection, not often did I have the opportunity to do so. In my bias opinion, I looked fair, I thought. My hair was a little wavier than normal because I didn't have anyone to borrow a brush from so my fingers had to make do. My dress had kept intact well and hugged my torso until it pooled out a little at my hips.

My eyes, my favourite feature whenever I looked at myself, sparkled in the light of the room with a little life, the hazelnut colour complementing my hair. I pulled a quick 'not bad' look at myself in the mirror before realising Christine had spoken. I looked like a right idiot I bet.

"Oh um yes, err, well," 'great start' I mumbled to myself, "I was just curious as to why you, um, opened the door last to week, you looked almost hopeful to see someone. Oh I hope I'm not prying." I recognised that my question could be seen as rude, especially when I hardly knew her, actually at that point she had good reason to kick me out if she wanted.

Instead, she smiled at me, "Silly really, but I think I've mentioned before that I used to have an invisible friend called Clara at a young age, just a silly childish thing that kept my spirits up." Her smile was warm and charming and I couldn't help but return it at the thought.

"That's sweet, but why call them Clara, was it an old ancestral name or something." I tried to pry the reason out of her, probably a little less inconspicuous than I would have liked.

"I'm not really sure, you know, wait… something to do with father mentioning it a couple of times, I guess it just stuck with me." She shrugged.

"What sort of mentionings did he say?" Not suspicious at all.

Christine carried on in her naïve little way, "Now you say it, he did always have sadness when he said the name, almost mourning something. I just assumed it was some woman he loved before he had the opportunity to play in another theatre and earn some money."

Gracefully, she turned on her chair until she was facing me, then she swiftly scooped my hands into hers, "Why all the interest?" she asked imploringly.

I glanced quickly at the mirror before I dropped my head a little, I couldn't look at her, she was too innocent for me to see the pain when she found out what Gustave had done.

"I came to the opera house looking for family and I, erm, may have found it, I hope, no, yes, well I'm sure I mean how many Christine Daaés can there be unless some sort of higher being is taunting me and there's a whole host of them locked in the basement ready to come out and mock me…"

I went to take a breath when a little cough sounded in my ear and it did not come from Christine. I practically jumped ten feet in the air, I'd completely forgotten Erik could do that.

Glancing sheepishly at the mirror I heard Christine's serious voice, "What exactly are you saying Clara?"

"Well here's the funny thing, you have a sister and you know that sister and I know that sister and Meg and lots of other people." I couldn't stop, part of me hoped that Meg would just be her sister, you know, if I could just shift that responsibility on to her.

Christine stood from her chair and dropped my hands which were a little clammy so I couldn't blame her. "I don't have a sister, you must have the wrong person, I'm sorry."

"No, no I was told Christine Daaé in the Opera Populaire, you are my sister, Gustave was our father." All sense of timidness was out the window, it was just a case of getting her to believe so I wouldn't look like a fool, anymore than I already did.

"Why would father do that though, he was a lovely man, loving and caring, he wouldn't toss a child on the streets for no reason. Not even with a reason, he just wouldn't." She shook her head to try and convince herself that what I was saying wasn't true.

"I'm sorry Christine, but it's true, Gustave couldn't afford me and our mother so he got a lady in the village to look after me and use me as a maid until I was around the age of five or six. I've gone around a lot of servant jobs since." My voice took on a more pleading tone and became more incessant, "Please Christine don't shut me out, as much as I hate to admit it, it's lonely going from job to job with nobody caring for your welfare."

She gave me a wary look and folded her arms, "What proof is there? There must be some type of evidence."

'Oh great' I thought. There wasn't going to be proof and to be honest I didn't think Christine was bright enough to think about that so I gave her credit for it, but then again, a sudden sister, maybe not.

"Did Gustave ever speak about oil, burning hot oil?"

"What kind of a question is that? He told me to be careful around burning oil like any parent would to their child. I think he had an accident when he was younger and burned himself." Her answer was rushed and I could tell she was flustered by the enormity of the situation.

"No, not him, he didn't have the accident," once again I looked to the mirror but saw nothing, part of me hoped Erik was paying attention for the next part as I probably should have told him when we were kids, "I was burned will oil when I was a babe, I have the scar all around my neck and a little on my lower cheek. That's all the proof I have." I pulled my hair back so she could see the pale mottled flesh with red blotches, I wasn't proud of it but it didn't bother me like it used to.

Christine sank slowly into her chaise in the corner of the room and buried her head in the nook of her arm.

I looked to the mirror in panic, shrugging my shoulders and gawping like a fish. I didn't know whether she would want me to comfort her or leave her alone.

"Go to her." A deep whisper sounded in my ear. I nodded to where I assumed Erik was behind the mirror and went to sit next to Christine on the chaise.

"Christine?" I gently rested my hand on her shoulder. She raised her head to look at me and could see the small tear tracks that stained her rosy cheeks. She shifted her body so she was resting her head on my shoulder. I found the position a little awkward, but gave her the liberty to do so.

After a minute of uncomfortable silence on my part I spoke up, "Are you okay?" Now I know, stupid question; I just didn't know what to ask to get her to talk.

"I just can't believe father would do that, though his behaviour makes sense now that I put it all in place and it just pains me to see the light."

"But there was method in his madness, he couldn't afford a life with mother and me. You said yourself that he sounded mournful when he thought of me so he must have had some sort of regret for his actions."

I heard Christine give another little sob, by the way, my shoulder was completely soaked by this point, "So he died regretting his actions?"

That's what she was freshly upset about, oh dear, I wasn't doing a good job of calming her down. "No. Obviously he had a happy life with the family he always wanted because he had you and mother." I smiled down at her.

Christine sprang up from her place at my shoulder, her eyes burning with pity and concern for me and it made me unsettled to have the tables turn. "Oh no, you don't know do you? Clara, our mother died at childbirth, though I don't really miss her because I never really knew her. Sometimes I feel it's my fault but then I remind myself it isn't." She looked crestfallen.

"No it isn't your fault and whilst I'm sad to hear she isn't still alive I don't miss her either, as cruel as that may sound."

The next hour was filled with Christine telling me stories of Gustave and me telling her the tales of my work, only the good ones mind you. I knew Christine wouldn't want to her of the treatment I got in some places.

When listening to the family tales, I had to detach myself and pretend I wasn't part of the family. As much as I may have seen the sensibility in Gustave's actions, it still hurt to think that I could have been part of a warm and loving family.

I could have shared hot chocolate in front of a fireplace whilst father played his violin beautifully for Christine and me. Instead, I drank weak tea, provided by a stranger, in front of a small fire in a bin, on my own or with some other homeless person.

At the time, it didn't bother me too much, but then I didn't have a comparison. The comparison Christine was telling me of.

I told her of the flute I had acquired and how I practiced whenever I could, she made me promise to let her listen at some point. I grudgingly agreed.

Christine was very lively person, full of love and joy. She had a lot of funny escapades to tell me from when she would cause trouble with Meg and I couldn't help but send a knowing glance towards the gilded mirror.

The mention of trouble reminded me of the deal I had made with Erik, to try and convince Christine that she shouldn't spend all her time with Raoul and whilst in part I agreed because it would leave an impression on people and he was interrupting her lessons with Erik, I didn't see why not.

I wanted to know what her impression of Erik was first though, "So I've heard a lot about Erik, what about him?" Quite smooth I thought.

A low growl echoed down my ear causing me to shiver violently, Erik was obviously not pleased with that question. In fairness, I had thought that he had left, maybe he left and came back.

Christine gave me a puzzled look, she seemed genuinely confused which confused me, "Err you know blondy gingerishy guy what's his name, John? Richard? No, Raoul, that's it." I released a sigh, it was too much stress to save myself from that one.

I saw a faint blush adorn Christine's cheek, well Erik wasn't going to be happy at that reaction, I was sure.

"We were childhood friends. Oh Clara, he's so handsome now and he treats me so lovely, he even calls me Little Lottie sometimes." She was giving me a sweet and dreamy smile.

"But Lottie isn't your name Christine." She gave me a funny look so I put my hands in the air in mock surrender. Note to self, do not pick fault with Christine's nickname.

"Do you not worry about the sort of impression people will have?"

She raised an eyebrow for me to go on. "You know, the impression you get when a girl and boy incessantly walk around with each other, eat many meals together and stare all lovey dovey at each other. You wouldn't turn around and say 'oh they make a lovely brother and sister'."

I stopped when Christine put a finger to my lips, a small smile on her face.

"Clara, the man only just walked back into my life. And whilst I do find him handsome, I'm not in love with him, not yet anyway. It takes time to build a relationship on more than just looks and I don't think a few meals together with make society jump in the air and scream infidelity."

When Christine was staring off into the distance, recounting some adventurous tale, I gave a pointed look at the mirror. It was a 'there you go, we still have time, don't get so antsy' look and I gestured with my hands to make sure the message was relayed perfectly.

Christine looked back and I quickly dropped my hands. She gave me a strange face, but ignored it and carried on when I gave her a sweetly innocent grin.

The cute little sweet talk of Raoul went on for a little while and I swear I could feel Erik's eyes boring holes through the mirror.

To give Erik a break I reminded Christine of the late hour because had chatted for a very long time.

I took my leave so I could head back to my chapel room, I'd speak to Erik about the events another time, it was too blummin' late to deal with a frustrated and jealous phantom.


	7. Chapter 7

The next day, I Iearned from Meg that everyone was to meet in the Auditorium to find out what the next opera was to be. I was quite excited to have a short break from my monotonous cleaning routine and anticipated sitting in the plush red chairs of the audience space.

Everyone filed in the room and the seats quickly filled up. Unfortunately I couldn't sit next to Christine or Meg as I was just a cleaner and we were made to sit with the stagehands. It made sense because then the actors and dancers could pick up their scores and notes from the front easier.

Once again, I slumped into my seat, it was difficult not to, they were so comfy.

"Comfortable are we?" A cheerful voice sounded to my right, speaking my thoughts.

It was a boy about my age with unkempt brown curls on the top of his head. His dark eyes sparkled with humour and a cheeky smile to match. His skin was a tan colour as if he hadn't lived in the opera house for long and had absorbed a lot of sunshine.

"Yep." I popped the 'p' for extra effect and he chuckled. The lad collapsed in the chair next to me and mirrored my slouched appearance.

"Arthur." He held his hand over to me to shake and I took it, "Clara."

"You been workin' here long?"

I turned to glance at him, "Nearly two weeks, so no, not long. You?"

"I came over from England three years ago and started not long after that." He looked nonchalantly towards the front.

I frowned in confusion, "Why did you come to France?"

He sighed and tilted his head back to relax a little, "Me dad wanted me to study science an' I did for a while, but it got so boring. I made a right bodge job with all the chemical- the labs were outs use for weeks.

There was nothing exciting, you wouldn't have anyone like Carlotta in a science room."

I snickered, "I don't think you would have someone like Carlotta anywhere else." Arthur snorted.

The managers walked on stage with very worried expressions adorning their faces. 'Erik!' I moaned in exasperation, of course he would have done something. For some reason or another he couldn't seem to give them a break.

"Thank you for coming ladies and gentleman." Andre began casting his voice over the crowd.

He was stopped when Carlotta swept into the room, followed by her many minions. She had a proud sneer on her face and I was curious as to what put it there.

"Ah Miss Guidicelli, we were just waiting for you." Andre lied smoothly.

Carlotta thanked them in her annoyingly screechy voice and waved for them to carry on as she bustled to the front and middle seat. I rolled my eyes, 'piece of work'.

"I am sure you are all eager to hear what the next opera will be after Hannibal was such a success."

I heard Arthur make a derogative noise next to me. He leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Only 'cus Carlotta weren't in it though, ain't I right?" I nodded without looking at him.

It was true, Christine was the only reason tickets were sold out every night. According to Meg, that had never happened before, it was usually only the first night that sold out, then people found out Carlotta was still the Prima Donna.

Some people actually enjoy her though! I had to try and not gag at that thought.

"The opera will be," Firmin built up the suspense, which none of us were impressed about so he sheepishly carried on, "Il Muto!"

'Oh Joy!' I thought sarcastically 'I've never heard of it.'

Firmin continued, "The Countess will be played by Carlotta Guidicelli, the Count will be Ulbaldo Piangi, the Pageboy by Christine Daaé…" He carried on listing off roles but nobody around me was listening to him.

Next to me I heard Arthur groan at Carlotta's name and it was not the only one I heard.

In the corner of my eye I saw the curtain of Box 5 shift, obviously Erik heard the managers and it was not going according to plan.

In a moments panic that he may do something rash because that has always been the type of person he was, I threw my voice over to the box like he did in my ear when talking with Christine.

Erik had learned how to do it when we were kids and I had begged him to show me how to do it. That was when the lessons in 'voice throwing' had begun.

"Calm down, we can sort this out in a controlled manner later, DO NOT make a scene." I muttered so my voice would project inside the box and only he could hear it. The last part I emphasised just to make sure it registered in his phantom- scheming brain.

It was obvious he heard me because the next thing I knew there was a loud crash coming from box five.

Something had happened; I didn't know what, but it had.

"Blinkin Nora." I mumbled under my breath at the racket.

Everyone jumped at the loud noise but no one except me knew exactly where it came from. Meg stood up, shouting in fright, "He's here, The Phantom of the Opera."

Everyone scuttled off in all directions, grabbing notes from the front and generally clearing the area to get as far away from the phantom as possible.

Only Arthur and I were left in our seats.

"Well that cleared the room quicker than Carlotta's singin' could. I swear, if we find that the noise was just a rusty chair fallin' over or sumpthin', I'll be rib ticklin' all week. To be fair, this Phantom business, real or fake, is really puttin' a spanner in the works for the managers."

Arthur slapped his knees before getting up himself, "Right, I'll be off, see you around, maybe we could get together sometime."

I nodded and stood myself, I guess I had to go check on Erik to see what happened.

I decided I liked Arthur, he was a breath of fresh air to me. He was so casual and laid back, evidently not giving a toss about believing in ghosts. Arthur was fairly handsome as well. Even though he was a stagehand, he took to making sure his clothes were presentable and he was clean shaven, something unheard of in the business, I was sure.

I made my way around the side of the stage and up the winding wooden stairs to the higher level, it was deserted as there was no reason to clean it until about a week before the first show, as I found out when I attempted to do extra work and clean it.

Silly me, extra work, it must have been a very new concept around this opera house.

The door to Box five was a thick oak that had been recently polished for the Vicomte's pleasure. I had overheard a ballet rat say they had to re-do the whole box interior as it was that old and dusty, I had a mind to ask Erik if I could keep it clean as I know the managers had to pay a terrified cleaner extra to do it.

I would have gladly taken in more pay- unterrified too.

I opened the door to find it didn't creak as I thought it would. Inside I saw a chair tipped over, it was not one of the fixed red ones. It looked as though Erik had thrown a chair. I walked over and turned it upright.

I felt a presence behind me and knew immediately that it was Erik; he shut the door. I plonked down on the chair and looked up at him.

"So what happened?" I asked innocently.

Erik looked sheepish which led me to think that maybe he hadn't thrown the chair; he would still be fuming.

"It was an accident that was all." He sounded like a grumbling child.

I laughed hard as it dawned on me, "You fell over the chair! The oh so fearful Phantom of the Opera fell over a chair. Was it a ghost chair? No! No, Erik watch out there's one behind you!" I joked and to my thorough amusement, he checked behind him.

I was struggling hard to contain myself; he was quite the picture.

Under his raised eyebrow and sour look I sobered up quickly.

"Yes, well, if you have quite finished, I was merely shocked by your voice being in my box and your body eight foot below."

"You taught me, you shouldn't have been so surprised, I practised all these years when I didn't have much to do." I shrugged, "So I suppose you heard that Carlotta will be the countess."

Erik stopped brushing off his cape to give me an unimpressed look, "Of course I did."

"Please don't do anything rash, think first okay, we don't want any regrettable accidents. Gosh, I sound like a mother now." I rubbed my forehead, I was developing a headache.

I heard Erik sniff so I decided to leave and go see Meg for more lively and happy chatter. As I opened the door Erik spoke up, "That boy of yours, he may seem good but remember he is still a stagehand and I have yet to see one that hasn't dunked their morals in the gutter at some point."

There was something off about Erik, he was much more curt than the usually mediocre curtish type behaviour.

I looked back at him to see the blankness in his face. It was touching that he mentioned it, but the character change was disconcerting and I didn't know what had happened.

I turned back around and walked up to him, hugging him. At first he stiffened and his arms sprang from his sides.

I held back tears that were pricking behind my eyes when he didn't return my hug.

"Thank you Erik. I'll heed your warning if you follow mine." I smirked up at him and he grimaced down.

"Do not forget our deal Clara."

I rolled my eyes and walked to the door again, "As I said before, I'll do what I can and I'm still not interested in playing in the orchestra pit by the way."

I left before he could retort and snuck through the corridors towards the Prima Ballerina room. Somehow, managing not to trip, even if my mind was occupied with trying to wonder reasons for Erik's behaviour.

If he was angry at Carlotta taking the prime position in the next opera, that was no excuse to be upset with me and his gestures seemed very distant, not particularly angry. Erik appeared disappointed and that would feel much worse if it was directed at me.

I knocked on the door and entered when accepted. Inside were Christine and Meg. Christine smiled sweetly at me and Meg looked thoroughly enthused.

I put all thoughts of Erik to one side. I intended to have fun with my sister and friend. If Erik was disappointed, then he would have to find me and tell me why.

"Is it really true," she looked over her shoulder at Christine, "not that I don't believe you Christine."

"Is what true?" I asked with false innocence plastered on my face.

Meg shoved my arm playfully, "You're Christine's sister!"

"Well I don't think I couldn't be if I tried now that you know Meg." I smirked at her mock offended glare.

I sauntered over to Christine and hooked an arm around her shoulders testing my height against hers, "Oh look, I'm taller!" I joked.

"You're older." Christine countered, shaking her head in laughter.

"You two are a pair." Meg said, "We should so celebrate, Christine you could invite Raoul!"

Christine faintly blushed at Meg's outburst. I decided it was about time to exercise the Phantom's deal, disappointment or not.

"No Meg, we aren't going to be gooseberries, we'll make it a girl's night." I replied.

The girls became very excited at this idea and plans were made for a meal and shopping, which I would have to wait for as we decided it would be fair to go after my first pay.

After half an hour of planning, the conversation became more gossipy and uninteresting for me because a lot of the ballet dancers I barely knew and so the names were meaningless to me.

Meg turned her attention towards me, so I smiled at her, my futile attempt at looking like I really was paying attention. Many of my thoughts were consumed with Erik stumbling over a chair, worrying about him doing anything towards Carlotta, what he was up to at that moment and things of the like. He was so infuriating, consuming my thoughts.

"You were very friendly with Arthur today." She gave me an amused look.

I saw where she was heading with that comment so I decided to kill it before it went further, "Yeah, I hope we can be friends." I shrugged my shoulders non- committedly.

"Just friends?" She pressed.

"Yes, after all he is a stagehand and they are not renowned for their moral behaviour." I regurgitated Erik's earlier notions.

This time Christine piped up, even she was involved, "But Arthur is known for being the gentleman of the stagehands, he never goes with them to have a drink, in fact I don't think I have ever seen him drink. There has never been a complaint against him either." She smiled hopefully at me.

My hopes were lifted at this thought and my stomach became slightly fluttery, perhaps he wasn't like the others. I had to make my own calculations though, "I will see for myself though."

Meg squealed and I realised she had misinterpreted what I said, but I couldn't correct her before she jumped on me and hugged me, squashing me, painfully. Christine joined in and I was officially stuck in a heavy laughing heap, not as fun as it sounds, trust me.


	8. Chapter 8

Two days of laborious cleaning and dusting, Box 5 included, and I was called upon by the managers. To say I was curious was an understatement, I didn't think I had done anything wrong.

To be fair, it could have been a meeting to tell me to stop finding innovative ways to trip up Carlotta, but I thought the managers found her just as annoying as I did.

Even Erik had complemented me on the nails hammered into the floor so her heels would snap. The woman went through three pairs of heels before she caught on that something was fishy.

I hadn't had much chance to speak with Erik and was nervously awaiting the conversation of my burn, hoping he had forgotten. In fact, I hadn't really spoken to anyone for two days, just wrong place at the wrong time.

I briefly wondered if Carlotta herself had complained about our broom debacles, I wouldn't have put it past her.

As I walked through Christine's corridor, I passed Meg. Perfect. I didn't actually know the way to the manager's office so it was perfect that I ran into her.

She smiled at me as she walked by and I reached to put a hand on her shoulder to stop her, "Hey Meg, which way is the manager's office?" I asked with trepidation lacing my words. I did not want to lose my job.

Meg gave me an inquiring frown, "What did you do?" Her face took on a hungry look, she wanted gossip.

"Firstly, thanks a lot for assuming I did something," I said sarcastically, " and secondly, I haven't got a blummin' clue."

She shrugged her shoulder and looped her arm through mine. I looked down at our interlocked arms and smiled, I loved being around people who wanted friendly physical contact, I wasn't considered scum of some kind. It genuinely made me smile.

Meg carried on chirping away through my little epiphany, "I don't see what you could have done, personally I think you haven't been here long enough to cause any trouble. You didn't upset Carlotta did you? To be fair, if the managers aren't there at the time, she doesn't complain. For someone who has to learn a lot of lines, she really does have a poor memory."

I hummed in acknowledgment as we plodded up some stairs, "They cannot fire you, I won't let them. If they want to, you come to me. I will sign a petition, start a riot, jump in front of a carriage!" I suddenly looked at her in alarm, "Maybe not that last one, but I would definitely get my mother involved. She has a huge sway in running this place- _He_ listens to her. Though, I don't really know why."

We stopped in front of a large oak door, which finally ceased meg's chatter, "Here we are!" She said.

I nervously stepped forward, it wasn't so much the managers themselves that scared me, it was all the power they wielded. All the power they could abuse.

"Do you want me to wait for you?" Meg asked, she placed a reassuring hand on my arm.

"No, come back in a quarter of an hour. I wouldn't want to detain you from your priorities." I smiled at her to assure her I was fine.

I heard her walk down the stairs so I took a breath and knocked on the door.

A minute later they called me in.

The room was a mess. There was paper everywhere and an ingrained musky smell of alcohol. I don't even think it was organised mess. The managers did not know how to run a business effectively, not a theatre at any rate. However, I shoved all these impressions to the back of my mind for the sake of my sanity. Have to say it was probably a little late for my sanity though.

"Ah Mademoiselle… erm. I'm sorry dear, I do not actually know your last name." Firmin apologised with a sheepish smile.

"Daaé." No point in hiding it anymore I guessed.

"Daaé?! As in Christine Daaé, Daaé?" André shouted at me with shock not very well concealed.

"Shh" Firmin nudged him in the arm, "Daaé could be a very common surname."

I had to hide a laugh, "Well I'm not Christine, but I am her sister."

Firmin leaned over to André conspiratorially, "Suppose that's where _He_ believes the talent comes from." He nodded in response with mutters of agreement.

"I'm sorry," I butted in, "Who?"

This jolted them out of their separate talk and initial surprise, "You see Mademoiselle Daaé, we got an unusual letter from _'P. of the Opera'_ insisting that we put you in the orchestra pit or he would double his salary and cause much more trouble for us." Firmin explained, he seemed a little exhausted as he spoke, rubbing his eyes in the process.

"I see, but I do not want to be a part of your orchestra so I must decline. If you tell him this, I am sure he will not go through with his demands." I said matter of factly. He surely wouldn't punish the managers for something I didn't want to do.

The managers tensed up and started to sweat a little, "That may be, but even if this is a practical joke, we cannot risk somebody sabotaging us- in other words, we need you to play in the orchestra pit."

I sighed, the managers were so pathetic, and they still did not believe in Erik as the Phantom. These managers didn't even know what I played yet, they hadn't asked. Although, Erik may have told them. I at least wanted support from managers who were emotionally invested in my musical welfare.

"Do you even know what I play?"

They looked taken aback. André coughed awkwardly, "Maybe you could… fill us in?" He seemed so pleading.

I found this the perfect opportunity to mess with their heads, "Oh well, you know, the bagpipes. They truly are fantastic."

I saw Firmin almost throw up and both of their eyes bulge out of their sockets. I wished I could have gotten a drawing of their faces.

"But we cannot accommodate bagpipes. Someone is ruining us!" spluttered André.

"No! I'm sorry, I was being humorous, it's not serious. I try to play the flute." I rushed so Firmin wouldn't actually be sick; I didn't want that on my dress.

They visibly calmed at my words, but there was a hint of wariness in André's eyes. 'Not impressed, not impressed' my brain repeated over and over. "You can start tomorrow as a trial session with the orchestra, of course you know it is Il Muto. I am pleased to have this settled with plenty of time before the show."

I didn't know if he was joking or not, the first show was in a month, I wasn't that good that music immediately clicked in my head after one run through. It was easier if someone played it for me and then I copied their run through.

Firmin then spoke up, "One last thing, the note said that if you disagree to tell you 'tough luck'" I rolled my eyes, of course Erik would have said that. He was so stubborn, like a mule.

"Have a good day Mademoiselle." They called as I exited their office.

Outside Meg was waiting with Christine in anticipation. "Well?" Was all she said to prompt me. I gave her an incredulous look, she was too eager.

"I have been ordered to play in the orchestra pit by the Opera Ghost." At this Meg gasped in fright, but Christine frowned in confusion. "But we'll see about that." I added.

I looked at Christine, remembering my deal with Erik as I spoke, "I guess the Opera Ghost is really doing me a favour; I would have never asked to be in it. It's a big opportunity, I should probably thank him." 'There' I thought, 'that ought to put Erik in a good light'. Lies, of course.

They both gave me small smiles and requested to hear me play. I acquiesced to their pleas and led them to a practice room, apparently they still had half an hour of their dinner break. I made sure I did not take them to practice room 5, Meg being superstitious and all.

I collected my case and the stand, which I claimed as my own and took them to the practice room. As I opened my case to take out some music, I noticed a stained yellow piece of paper with a music score written on it in red ink, childish handwriting. It was not mine. Erik! He was getting on my nerves, big time.

I placed Erik's music on the stand and readied my position, making sure my back was straight, the body of the flute was held up and the mouthpiece was turned out. I was sure my positioning would be rubbish by the end, but it was better to start correct at least.

The music was divine. It was in minor key so the piece had an air of mystery to it. I felt as though I was transported to an Arthur Conan Doyle mystery, crime solving alongside Sherlock Holmes, the great detective. I had browsed one of my master's books once and come across it.

The score picked up in pace, obviously the chase scene, we were capturing the criminal now, Holmes and I, Watson not far behind I assumed. I flourished the chromatic scale with only a little blip towards the end, determining the dismal fail of the criminal. Though, the triumphant change to major key inspired the feelings of celebration.

I was happy to only make one huge mistake, where my fingers couldn't keep up with my brain and muddled up, so I went back and repeated the section. Usually good musicians carry on and hope the audience didn't notice, but my blunder was a large blunder, there was no mistaking it was an error and not in the music.

Have to say though, I loved how Erik managed to keep it not too fast and jumpy because if it was then this girl wouldn't have been able to play it. Understatement of the century.

Meg and Christine clapped with enthusiasm.

"That was amazing!" Meg cheered, "Where did you get that music?"

'Oh shoot, oh fuzzy breadsticks with goblin snot and a cherry on top' was the first thing that resounded in my head and I made a face at myself. I couldn't very well tell them that the Opera Ghost left me a little present.

The annoying thing was that they both knew I could never afford to buy music, not with the salaries I ever earned. That only left one option…

"I wrote them." I said lightly, dubiously checking to see if they would swallow the lie.

Meg stood gawping at me, making me feel terrible. I was definitely reporting my lie to Erik so I wouldn't feel so bad.

Christine filled in Meg's silence, "You should write more music. We could perform it at this opera house, everyone would hear your amazing talent."

'Oh shoot, oh mouldy mushrooms mangled on a miserable mound and moulded on the Eiffel Tower.' Things were getting serious.

"Ladies I… don't… like composing. It's so… boring and… hard and… um… just no." I forced out and trailed off. Smooth, real smooth.

It wasn't the lying that got me, although in this case it was as well because I bet Erik put his soul into it and I was just lamely claiming it. It's really the thinking on one's feet, spouting words before sentences are formed.

I'm generally an adequate liar, if there is such a thing. Just not at this point.

Both of the girls were eyeing me suspiciously and I felt like I was looking at Watson and Holmes as the criminal. Not great.

"Mhmm," Meg hummed, "well, nonetheless we congratulate you on your orchestra pit place and bid you adieu."

Christine glanced confused at Meg. "Rehearsals?" Meg prompted and the light dawned in Christine's eyes.

Christine gave me a quick hug before she and Meg ran off to an Il Muto rehearsal for choreography or something like that.

As I was putting away all my practise materials, there was only one thing on my mind…

'To meet a phantom' and where else than practise room five?


	9. Chapter 9

I stood in the centre of Practise Room Five, hands on my hips and an unimpressed look adorning my face. Oh- Erik was in extreme trouble.

"Erik! Get your phantom self in here this second!" I shouted around the room and scanned each of the mirrors for some form of indentation for his pulley system.

I waited a minute or so impatiently. The room was quiet, and I could hear my own breathing echo in the air. My foot rubbed circles in the ground as I continued to wait, and it wasn't too long before one of the mirrors slid quietly open like a tomb revealing its secrets. Erik stood regally, clad in his usual formal attire and his histrionic cape swished behind him.

The only issue was his face. Nothing to do with the mask or his deformity, no. It was his fuming glare piercing into me. His fists clenched tightly at his sides and I wanted nothing more than to mirror his anger- so I clenched mine.

"What do _you_ want?" He seethed with narrowed eyes but managed to keep his voice controlled, "I was composing and would like to get back whilst I still have my muse in my head."

His controlled but clearly visible anger was annoying me more than shouting at me would, though I didn't let it show.

"If it bothers you that much then go and compose, we can speak tomorrow." I bit back harshly and waved a flippant hand.

"No, no, no" Erik gestured sarcastically for me to continue, "You pulled me away already. You might as well get your moan out now." His voice sounded sweetly mocking.

Erik stalked forward with a pointed stare. I did not condone the way he was treating me, not one bit.

"Why did you go behind my back Erik?" I said cautiously.

He gripped my shoulder, his fingers curled around and digging into my back, not painfully, but enough to shock me.

"And why did you go behind mine Clara?" He asked, dangerously low.

I didn't know what he was talking about and his burning eyes staring holes into mine did not help my nerves. I couldn't look at him for fear of dying on the spot. Any words I had prepared fled my desperate brain. The man was seriously angry for some reason.

"What did I do?" I whispered as he was close enough to hear me and I didn't think I could muster anything bigger.

Erik gritted his teeth in an unamused laugh, "The injury to your neck." He prompted me.

My back went rigid and my face took on an imperturbable façade. 'So, it's that argument he wants'. I had been expecting it for days and so had time to prepare my case. In all I felt like a lawyer whenever I practised in one of the mirrors. My voice always became very eloquent and I would articulate perfectly. Except with Erik staring and daring me to whisper, I lost nerve and felt my speech was inadequate.

I appeared as composed as I could, causing Erik to remove his hand from my shoulder. Instead he took to prowling around the room, hands behind his back.

"I do not see why you had to know." I stated nonchalantly.

He stared at the floor whilst he spoke, studying his boots as they silently crept on the wooden boards, "Perhaps because Erik was a child with a deformity being mistreated and wanted to know there was someone like Erik. Do you not think it could have helped?" Erik glanced up at me but his face was an indifferent mask.

"Helped? You mean helped in the sense of giving peace to you whilst also being beaten myself because you lived with a maniac who despised imperfection, saw it as a sign from the devil himself." I bit back at his absurdity. At such a young age I was not going to risk my own health and cause even more casualties.

"It was just safer-" I reasoned.

"SAFER! My mother didn't have to know. Only Erik." He stomped his foot vehemently.

Erik walked up to me and lifted my hanging chin with a gloved finger. "It hurts, Clara, knowing you lied to me. I didn't know I had empathy instead of sympathy- the whole time, someone who could understand, even a little." His voice was a mere whisper, a strong and sturdy one, but still a whisper. Erik couldn't contain his sadness from me for long, never for long.

I took in his sad amber eyes and feeling deep in my stomach wrenched, a cold and prickly feeling- guilt. We were both children and perhaps I should have said something. I should have entrusted my secret to the one person I could rely on.

"I'm sorry I lied Erik, I was just so scared. Constantly seeing what happened to you and fearing that it could happen to me. That woman beat you and I couldn't bear it, I don't want you to be upset." I rubbed my forehead with the palm of my fist, "I should have told you though. I know you would have kept it secret and I-I'm sorry for that reason." My eyes brimmed with tears and I fought to bite them back. My throat felt like a ball was lodged down it and scraping the sides of my trachea.

Then Erik did something which surprised me, both of us, I think. Well, _I_ found it surprising. He hugged me. I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his cape. I felt his chin on my shoulder and his body heat radiating off him. He smelt of rose and candles, which is quite an acquired smell. It felt relaxing to have a hug after such a long time. I was never really hugged.

I heard Erik inhale deeply and let go. "I do forgive you Clara, but please don't lie to me again." I nodded slowly, it may be difficult at times, but I would try not to. Erik was such a good friend, it would destroy me to end on terrible terms.

"And I'm sorry for forcing you to go in the orchestra pit. I can undo it if you want." He continued.

I sighed, "As pleasing as that sounds, I guess it's better to try it and hate it than pass up the chance of perhaps loving it. If that makes any sense."

He chuckled a deep, lovely sound and nodded.

As I went to go and sit against the wall, I suddenly remembered the other thing I wanted to tell him. Well, I say wanted, it was more of a need in order to compensate in a way.

"Erik?"

"Yes?" He replied suspiciously.

"You know that music you left me?" I fiddled with my fingers.

"Just spit it out, Clara." Exasperation seeped into his tone.

I coughed nervously, "Yes, well, I had to play it for Meg and Christine and then they kind of asked where I got it from and I panicked and said I kind of maybe, well sort of wrote it myself." I peeped up at him.

Erik didn't look particularly bothered, to my surprise I might add. "It's not like you could have said it was from the Phantom and it's _you_ so it doesn't bother me too much, I understand." He sighed a little, almost defeated.

"Oi!" I realised, "What do you mean by _it's you_?" I furrowed my brow.

Erik smirked at me but didn't actually answer me.

I couldn't think how awful it must be to compose but never have one's work played by anyone but oneself.

"What were you composing before you came here?" I asked him.

"Two things. I was tweaking a short opera called Ex Flammis Melodiam and I was working on some music for a long opera called Don Juan Triumphant." He flourished his hands proudly at his work.

"And what does Ex Flamees Medlum mean?" I fudged the wording uncertainly.

"Ex _Flammis Melodium_ means Flames of Melody. It is different. There is more acting and less singing, only important songs are sung as to make the audience believe in the characters. I have a beautiful underscore for the acting parts and was just tweaking that a little."

It seemed that Erik had it all sorted out, it was just a shame that it would never get to show on stage. Phantoms did not write operas.

Erik sat next to me on the floor and I rested my head on his shoulder. I felt him relax a little, then tense and mutter 'shut up'. I looked at him quizzically, but he rested his arms on his knees so I could no longer rest on his shoulder.

I have to admit that a little part of me told him to 'clear off' in my head- after all, I had just lost my pillow.

"What's it about?" At this Erik cleared his throat, straightened his poets shirt and I knew I was in for the long haul.

"A businessman loves a lady. Obviously he stands no chance of winning her affections on his own and so he employs a woman into his working business who disguises as a man when working but is a woman when the lady is around. This means he has a labourer and a woman for his plan.

Their plan is to make her jealous as the working man believes the lady does have a liking for him. However, it doesn't work and the lady retreats to a man of her class, believing the working man has a woman."

"Shame." I interrupted sarcastically, I couldn't help myself, it just came out.

Erik hesitated, slowly turning to face me with a pointed look and the silence echoed. Only when I bowed my head in supplication for the story did he continue, unperturbed.

"What does happen though is the man the lady married has fallen for the woman the working man employed to make the lady jealous.

Unfortunately, he can never find this woman as she is always a man whenever the lady is not around. So, the man throws a ball and invites the working man, hoping the woman would be there. He also has his wife there, hoping to make the woman jealous because he believes she has a liking for him, when in actual fact, she doesn't.

The woman has fallen for the businessman and slowly the businessman is falling for the woman he employed also. At the ball, the man the lady married confesses his love to the woman the businessman employed, but she refuses as she is in love with the businessman.

In a rage, the man murders the woman at the ball and leaves for England with the lady. The businessman finds his colleague and love dead, not knowing what has happened and so goes on to kill himself, finding no consolation in life.

There the opera ends."

I stood and stared at him, very confused. He waited for my response with an earnest face.

"I'm not going to lie, you lost me a little…"

"It's meant to be acted, not told." He butted in.

I hummed in agreement, "The ending sounds a little… dismal?"

"It's meant to be. I want the audience to cry." He explained it like it was plainly obvious.

"But do you not want the audience to cry and then leave happy and smiling so they will recommend it." I pressed.

Erik looked dubious, "I want other people to be intrigued as to why people cry when they come out of my show."

I pursed my lips, he wasn't getting it. Different is good, brilliant, excellent even, if done properly, less singing sounded suspicious. People either needed easing into something different or outright strange that they had to label it as spectacular. I knew the Opera Populaire had always done famous operas and if Erik really wanted to show his opera, then he needed to make a good impression for any future operas.

"Do these characters have names or are they just lady, woman, businessman and man?" I changed the subject.

"Not yet, I cannot come up with appropriate names." He seemed dejected at this, so I tried comforting him.

"They say write what you know, don't they? How many actors have you seen come and go through this opera house- tonnes, I bet. You can't tell me there weren't some that fit your characters, not even other characters from other operas?"

I could see him turn the idea over in his head, "I will think about it." He said slowly.

"Right." I clapped my hands together, "Tell me when the next lesson between you and Christine is and I'll try to make it happen."

"Tomorrow at six." He turned abruptly towards the mirror he came from and pressed the dent to open it.

"I do like the idea of your opera, Erik. It's very complicated and weaves in the nature of humankind very well." I called out to him.

It was the truth. If the opera was as I understood it in my head, then ,yes, I did find the appeal in the storyline.

Erik gave me a small smile before he left down the tunnel.

I left Practise Room Five in a better mood than I had entered- evidently. At a loss of what to do, I wandered around the opera house aimlessly.

I heard the faint sound of music and it reminded me of the rehearsals which were going on for Il Muto. So, I made my way towards the main stage seating and sat in one of the plump red seats.

The dancers looked shattered and Christine seemed a little tired as she sat in one of the chairs at the front.

As the music came to an end, Mme Giry released her dancers for the night. I saw one of them plonk on the floor where she stood, sprawling out.

I sauntered over to where Meg was moaning to Christine about the rehearsal, even though Christine was there to see it, I had learned this was typical Meg behaviour.

At my arrival, Meg put her arm around my shoulders and leaned her weight on me, almost toppling me to the ground, but I recovered quickly.

Meg chatted to Christine, going over some steps Mme. Giry had set whilst they had the stage to themselves.

I turned Erik's opera over in my head. It was a good idea and perhaps the Opera House could have used something new, tradition be tossed out.

Epiphany. Cliché, but definitely I had a epiphany moment. It was enough to make me whack my hand on the arm of the chair- not going to lie, it hurt.

New. Together we could make Erik's opera into an innovative show which everyone would love. Less singing and more acting. Mmm… people could have just gone to the theatre for that so the singing would have to really tell a story and not just feelings or lines from the script.

I was sure I could get André and Firmin to agree to put on the opera, after all, only André knew how to write music for his compositions, but after that he was useless.

But, to my best idea- I would get Erik to be in it. Who would know the mask wasn't part of the opera? After people heard Erik sing, they wouldn't care for his deformity. Surely?

I needed diversity. People of all backgrounds in this opera, if we were to make an impression then we would make a huge impression. It was a given that Christine would be in it- please Erik and all. I wouldn't be surprised if he was the businessman and she the woman, if I got that in the right pairing.

Two more people. I would speak with Erik at a later date. Obviously, he would not see the genius behind my idea at first, but that's where my exceptional persuasive skills came into their own.

Erik wouldn't know what hit him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Clara's P.O.V**

The dim lighting of Practice Room 2 scratched at my eyes. Little crown glass widows lined the farthest wall, letting in small heavenly spotlights of natural light. It was refreshing to finally see dust particles dance around the rooms.

I glanced around the large space at the vast expanse of chairs and music stands all lined up. Some musicians had arrived early to assemble their instruments and tune, but many seats were left empty. Whilst set design obtained much of the main stage, it was impossible to practice there and so I learned very quickly to resign myself to become comfortable with the Practice Room 2 arrangements.

The music had yet to be passed around and so I had taken a seat between the second violinists and the one oboe player who had arrived. My co-player's chair was empty, and I stared at it, mulling over whether they would be kind and friendly or at least a civilised person.

"He always turns up five minutes before the rehearsal so don't worry- you're not on your own." A plump bald man in his mid-fifties said absently.

"That's good." Was all I said.

The man snorted as he rubbed rosin on his bow, "Yeah. Good for who?"

I frowned in worry, that was obviously not a great sign. Then again, I was going to abstain from making my judgments from those of others.

More musicians filed in and readied themselves as I played with a loose thread in my black dress, winding it around my finger until the end went bright red.

It was a good few minutes before the conductor arrived. She strode in with the vigour of someone who would take no fuss and I knew I was dead. She wouldn't let slackers get away.

Mlle. Denise Bloch- according to my very astute sources. The old woman appeared worse than Mme. Giry, but without the kindly glimmer of relenting in her eyes.

Right behind the conductor was my co-player. He seemed to be a handsome, refined young gentleman, oddly wearing a suit for someone who wished to play in a pit for a job. Our deductions, Watson, say a rich man- but I don't think that was hard to guess.

The man stood in front of the stand ahead of mine and rose an eyebrow.

"Good morning. You may call me Louis. I see none of these _players_ informed you of your placing." He directed a pointed stare at the portly man who had spoken to me earlier, but the man didn't give a toss.

"Please move a seat to your right." He flicked his finger in a dismissive motion.

Throughout his speech I merely squinted at him and pursed my lips. I then understood the violinist's previous comment and heartily agreed with him- on a mental level which I didn't think the imbecile in front of me could ever achieve.

Grudgingly, I otched over a seat and sorted out the pile of music which had been unceremoniously plonked on my stand.

As I set Louis' music on the stand, I saw him twang a tuning fork and tune to it. My eyes widened in horror as I saw the man sit back in his chair all smug that his flute was tuned.

There were so many things I wanted to call him, but all that came out was a spitting "Posh pillock."

Louis slowly turned his head, "Excuse me?"

"Pretty penny! P-pretty penny that f-flute must have cost?" Yet, in my head was the booming voice going 'and the best liar award goes to Clara Daaé'.

To my blesséd relief, Louis just nestled comfortably into his chair, a bigger smirk on the toad's face.

Mlle. Bloch stood at the front and tapped her stand to gain our attention. "We have a new flautist in our orchestra- a Mlle. Daaé."

A few heads turned in surprise to get a glance of me. For musicians, their eyesight was very poor for not noticing me- well, Louis' curt outburst.

"Attention! We will begin at the first aria of Il Muto and perfect it today and then we will move onto the ballet, which will take a couple of rehearsals to get right after the shambles I witnessed on Saturday."

A snicker was heard from the brass section- of course it was the brass. My 'tutor' had told me all about what it was like to actually be in an orchestra and so I felt as though I had already been in one and knew the ins and outs of the culture.

The piano played concert A and all of us tuned, except Louis. I so wanted to give him a thump on the back of the head- but I don't think that would have given a very good first impression.

Mlle. Bloch gave a bar for nothing and then it began.

Hell.

In all honesty, it may have appeared to people before that I enjoy playing the flute. And yes, when I get it right and play with others, I can see the appeal, but I just don't feel it. When I imagine scenes as I play- it's all forced.

For example, take Erik's wonderful Holmes and Watson piece. It's fabulous music, but that's all it is to me- music. I can enjoy it, sure, but really feel it to the extent of many- no.

Music was and is a chore. I only practice because I don't want to forget how to play and then regret not keeping it up- especially when it's the only 'hobby' I have.

Due to this lack of enthusiasm, there's something you all should know- I'm not very good. At all.

I can read notes and I can do the fingering and I can produce the notes. But, I lack that je ne se quoi, which makes people dream whilst they play.

Still to this day, I never told Erik- he would be so disappointed in me.

I would love to say that the aria went off without a hitch when I was sight-reading because the music inspired me and wound fantastic images in my brain helping to flow the notes from one section the other- but I would be lying and we all know how good I was at that.

At the end of the aria I bounced to the back of my seat in despair and faintly heard the ting of Louis' tuning fork as he grumbled and adjusted his head-joint.

I distractedly stared at his music as Mlle. Boch corrected something in the cello part, inwardly laughing that she hadn't come directly to me with a disapproving grimace.

Louis turned to me with an unreadable expression. "You did not play half the notes and your scales were botched at best."

"Anything else?" I asked uninterested- I already knew what he was telling me.

He clicked his tongue, "Dynamics do not seem to exist in your 'playing' and you were too slow the majority of the time."

I hummed an impressed hum and nodded. "Conclusions?"

"I think you know." He said darkly.

I finally snapped. I know it was wrong, but I didn't need the arrogant twit pointing out my guilty flaws.

"Yes, I do know. I know you're an arrogant idiot who thinks tuning to a fork is good. At least I know that a decent player should try and flow with the rest of the orchestra, whether it's sharp or not. I also know that you are a rude moron who introduced yourself through gritted teeth- not even asking my name personally.

You do know that people only tolerate you, right? Because I've already gauged that from about twenty minutes of being here and that was longer than necessary."

Honestly, as soon as I had said it, I felt guilty for it. Louis looked deeply hurt and I had attracted a few looks from those around us. I felt cold and prickly tingles from my head downwards and wanted to sink into my chair and disappear.

I no longer wanted to be part of an orchestra like this one and my reputation was already in the gutter.

I grabbed my flute case, not bothering to pack up my flute. I just needed to be out of there.

I mumbled a small "Sorry" to Louis as I dashed out the door, ignoring the confused shout of "Clara?" from Mlle. Boch as I went.

My legs pumped fast as I dashed through the passageways. My lungs burned for oxygen and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth whilst sweet air felt too cold for my mouth. It only occurred to me how long I had been running when I reached the roof.

I slammed into the door- I swear I broke the lock- but I didn't care. The afternoon sun cascaded down and covered the roof in its golden light. The air smelt fresh and clean compared to the cramped and dusty opera house.

My knees gave way under me and I sank to the floor, catching my breath. I stared at my spread-out hands as my lungs heaved. I didn't realise how unfit I was.

The flute case lay beside me. I didn't want to look at it, it just made me feel useless. I pushed it away, not caring if the underside scratched. It was useless anyway.

Slowly, I lay down on my back and closed my eyes. I knew I would have to go back to work eventually and the incessant calls of the practice rooms never waited for idle hands.

Sleep. I needed sleep. I just wanted to sleep. The warmth of the sun and the quiet made me more sluggish than I had felt in a long time.

The creak of the door is what jolted me. Cold shivers skirted up my body, I panicked that it was Mme. Giry come to fire me for not working. I shot onto my elbows as the door opened.

Arthur. Blessèd Arthur. I collapsed back onto the roof, hitting my head. The impact jarred me and I gasped in pain.

"Are you okay?"

I felt two hands help me up to a sitting position.

"Physically or mentally?" I quipped.

He sighed, "You're fine then, but can I check ya head?"

I leaned forward to give my consent and he pushed my hair aside to get a good look, running his finger over the spot. I could feel him hesitate for a moment in his administrations and clicked at what he was staring at- oh flipping crackers.

"Well, you're heads fine, you're just gonna git a little bump. Gonna hafta call ya humpty dumpty." I laughed at his joke.

"But whatta about this?" He traced the line of my scar.

"Burning oil."

He sucked air between his teeth, "Sounds nasty. All better now, I hope?"

I nodded and crossed my legs and he copied me. We sat in comfortable silence for a moment as the breeze swept through the statues on the roof.

"How did you know I was here?" I asked him.

"Let's just say that when you're bolting through the corridors- you're not exactly subtle." Arthur said with a supressed smile.

"Oh."

"So, what's up buttercup? Tell old Prince Arthur." He looked at me with real interest and I just wanted to tell him. I needed an outside party to give me advice. I knew Erik would offer lessons, but right then, that wasn't what I needed to hear.

"It started when I got into the orchestra pit. I didn't want to be in the pit. I just- I can't play that well. You'd think ten years of playing would equate to some form of prowess, but I just can't. I sit with all these snobs who have had professional lessons, they _hear_ music, I just hear music." At this point I was gasping for words and my eyes pricked with tears from words I had never spoken before.

"I want to play, but I can't play. I-I just can't. It doesn't come." I hiccupped out.

Arthur moved to be beside me and hugged me. I collapsed against him and cried. I felt so comfortable around him, he was rocking me a little, humming a tune to calm me down.

"I feel useless." I murmured into his shirt once my eyes had dried up a little.

"You're not useless." He breathed.

Arthur shifted his weight, so I had to sit up, his eyes locking onto mine with full seriousness.

"Now, I have never heard you play. Yet, you got into the orchestra pit. This can only mean one thing: you can play." He put his hands on my shoulders, "Who cares about those snobs? Not me and you definitely shouldn't. I know it can be hard for others to see your achievements when all they see is inadequacy, but they are your achievements. It's your first day, obviously you weren't going to get the pieces today. Some people can sight read, others can't- guess which category you fit into." He took a deep breath, "But that doesn't mean you won't ever be able to play it.

Tell ya what, why don't yous give the orchestra another go and if your really don't wanna, then I will help you find somefin your passionate about."

I sucked the corner of my lip, he made sense and I felt stupid. I gave up too quickly and deep down I knew it too.

I nodded, "I guess I should practice then."

"Leave it till tomorra, it's only Tuesday and you're already exhausted." He smiled at me.

A grin spread across my face and it made me happy, I had a new perspective and I was going to follow through.

"You know, you're not too shabby with the whole motivational talk." I tapped his arm.

Arthur lay a hand on his chest, "Careful, dearie, that could almost be misconstrued as a compliment." He grinned impishly.

I thought about my practice the next day, Wednesday. Wednesday. That made that day Tuesday. Tuesday. Oh powdered pumpkins on a pick of pies- it was Tuesday. Christine had a lesson and I was supposed to ensure it happened.

Without thinking, I bolted and left a startled Arthur on the roof, wondering where on Earth I had run off to?


End file.
